Some Kind Of Madness
by ClearLikeButter
Summary: This was the first time John felt like he had let Sherlock down instead of the other way around. Post The Reichenbach Fall.


**Some Kind Of Madness**

**Summary: **This was the first time John felt like he had let Sherlock down instead of the other way around. When he finds out his best friend might not be so dead after all and that there is a dangerous criminal on the loose who is out for vengeance, things are about to get interesting. Post The Reichenbach Fall.  
**A/N: **This is my first Sherlock fic, hope you enjoy reading it and please don't forget to leave me a review Also a big thank you to my wonderful beta reader Lookingatstars for helping me out!  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine, not mine, not mine!

* * *

_Someone told me long ago,  
There's a calm before the storm,  
I know,  
It's been coming for some time,_

**Prologue**

_"The body of Rich Brook was found earlier today in his downtown apartment. Police say he was killed by a singular gunshot wound to the head and suspect a suicide. Brook, famous for being hired as an actor by former consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, was last seen leaving the apartment of Miss Kitty Riley. The reporter who unveiled the true story behind the trial of the century and exposed __Reichenbach__ hero Holmes as a fraud, wasn't available for comment today. She told us in an earlier interview that Brook was depressed about accepting payment from Holmes, for which he had to commit horrible crimes in return. Including kidnapping the ambassador's children from their boarding school and giving them mercury poisoning-"_

"Lies!" The grey haired man shouted to no one in particular as the volume of the TV was turned down "They are all lies!" The blond woman who was seated next to him shot him an annoyed look, before returning to her conversation with a guy who was at least twice her age.

The bartender seemed to be the only one who had actually listened "I don't care whether it's true or not," He said "They've been talking about nothing else since it happened!" It annoyed him to no end that whenever something 'big' occurred, it was all the news channels and papers would talk about for days. As if it was the only important thing going on in the world at that moment.

The grey haired man didn't answer. He didn't have time to listen to the pity opinions or concerns of others. He knew the truth and that was all that mattered. He would set the record straight and he would get his revenge.

"Want another drink?" The bartender eventually asked, realizing he was dealing with one of his less socialized customers. The man shook his head and threw some loose change on the bar as payment for the drinks he had earlier, before making his way to the exit.

Once outside he took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the crisp London air. He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialled the number he had so easily found on the internet the day before.

On the fifth ring, someone finally answered "If you are calling for an interview, I'm not interested." The person said in a monotone voice, that had the grey haired man convinced she was still being harassed by reporters every day.

"I'm not calling for an interview miss Riley," The grey haired man said, making sure his voice sounded a little more high-pitched then usual. "I'm calling because I have valuable information about Richard Brook."

"Look," Kitty Riley took a deep breath and willed herself to stay calm. She knew that one of her angry little outbursts could be blown out of proportion and be tomorrow's headline if she wasn't careful.

"Rich Brook is dead and don't think you are the first to try and lure me out of my apartment with this sort of bullshit!" She shouted a little harsher than intended. She was slowly starting to regret using her own name for all the articles she had written about Sherlock Holmes. Ever since his death, she was being harassed by all sorts of people.

The sound of laughter was not what she had expected to hear "Rich Brook never existed," the man simply said, "Moriarty was real!" With that he abruptly ended the call. It was time for plan B.

* * *

_One week later_

_One week. _John Watson stared at the blank screen in front of him and willed his hands to type something, anything. Instead they hung limply at his sides. _Disobedient little buggers_. It had been five days since his best friend's funeral and he hadn't posted a single blog since. His therapist had urged him to write about what happened _that _day, but he couldn't bring himself to do so.

His mind always drifted off to happier times. When his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, would pace around the room, occasionally peering over John's shoulder in an attempt to read the title of his latest blog. Of course Sherlock always pretended to disagree on almost everything John had written but fortunately John knew it was just a show.

He signed as he closed his laptop and made his way back to his old lumpy bed, where he had spent the entire week thinking. He had hardly eaten or slept and Mrs. Hudson was overly worried about him, but he didn't care. He had moved back to the tiny little room he used to live in before he met Sherlock and was not planning a trip to 221B Baker Street anytime soon. He just couldn't bring himself to go back there now.

Deep down he knew Moriarty was the only one to blame for Sherlock's death but he couldn't help but feel he had let his best friend down.

* * *

It was almost 3 AM when his cab finally arrived at Miss Riley's apartment. The woman had been hiding out there ever since Sherlock Holmes had committed 'suicide' little over a week ago. The group of reporters that were constantly camping outside her home had slowly shrunk in size, to the point where there was only one reporter left.

"This should be easy enough," the grey haired man mumbled as he pulled a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket. His aged looks usually gave him a valuable advantage. People were mostly nice to him and easily let their guard down because they didn't see him as a threat.

As he started walking towards the young reporter, who was now seated on the curb right outside miss Riley's apartment, he hunched over and feigned a coughing fit. Of course this did not go unnoticed by the reporter, who almost immediately came to his aid.

"Are you alright sir?" The young man asked placing a hand on his shoulder. The grey haired man suppressed a smile as he continued his performance. _Ordinary people are so stupid _he thought to himself.

"I'll - be - all -right," The grey haired man rasped between coughs. "Should - have - taken - a - cab." At this point the reporter finally seemed to notice the brown bag the old man had been carrying around with him.

"Here, let me get that for you." He said as he took the duffle bag from the old man's hands and placed it on the ground beside him. When the coughing still hadn't stopped a few minutes later, the reporter nervously bit his lower lip and rang the doorbell to miss Riley's apartment. She didn't answer.

The reporter shot a worried glance over his shoulder, seeing the man was still hunched over and in obvious discomfort. He rang again and again until finally the light in the hallway came on and a furious Kitty Riley opened the door.

"You had better get out of here unless you want to meet the business end of my baseball bat" She screamed as she raised the bat high above her, a crazed look in her eyes.

"Please, Miss Riley stop!" The reporter raised his hands in surrender, scared to death by the small woman who was dressed in pink mini mouse pajamas. _Never wake a sleeping woman _he thought to himself.

"This man needs help," The reporter explained gesturing behind him in the general direction of the old man. "Can we please come in?"

Kitty Riley slowly lowered her bat and took some time to assess the situation. This could just be another ruse of course. The grey haired man saw the doubt on her face and knew he had to do something.

"I'll be fine," He rasped as he slowly let his coughing subside "A glass of water would do wonders though." Miss Riley sighed, sometimes she truly was too good for this world.

"Fine" She finally relented "But you have to stay outside!" She snapped at the young reporter while ushering the old man in and closing the door with a resounding thud.

"Great" The reporter mumbled, he turned away from the front door and made his way back to the curb, when he saw the old man's duffle bag was still there. He picked it up and quickly placed the heavy item on top of miss Riley's hideous candy apple red Toyota. That way he wouldn't forget to give it back to its owner. What had the man been hauling around with him that was so heavy in the first place? Rocks?

He got an answer to that question less than a minute later. A loud noise erupted from the duffle bag, it sounded very much like heavy machine guns being fired in a rapid pace. As expected, lights went on in some of the adjacent houses, a few people opened their windows and shouted profanities at the young reporter, while others threatened to call the police.

At the same time a single shot rang through miss Riley's apartment and his it's mark with relative ease. Of course no one ever heard it happen and the shooter managed to easily slip out the back door without being seen.

When the shooter was sure he was a safe distance away from all the commotion, he carefully pulled a remote control with a single red button out of his pocket. As he pressed the button a loud noise that lasted only a few seconds erupted and he could see a cloud of grey smoke fill the air behind him.

He took a deep breath and headed towards the main road in search of a cab. Miss Riley and the young reporter who had been so helpful to him, were no more.

* * *

On the other end of town near Paddington station, Sherlock Holmes also inhaled lungs full of the crisp London air.

_"It's good to be back." _he thought to himself. Well, technically he never really left but his brother didn't need to know that. Mycroft would have a seizure if he found out Sherlock had sold his new passport and fake identity to someone from the homeless network in exchange for information about Moriarty's hit men.

The plan was so simple, Sherlock could almost call it dull. He was going to take out the three hit men that were still watching his _friends_ and _then_ take out the rest of Moriarty's network. Not the other way around as his brother had suggested, _no ordered_, him to do.

Sherlock couldn't help but think of the day he got to announce to John he was still alive. He'd rather die than ever admit this, but John had become his best friend over these last few years and Sherlock felt rather lost without him.

_First things first _He thought to himself. He had to take out the last of Moriarty's men in London. The game was on!

TBC

_Please don't forget to review, thanks_


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